


The Porcupine's Poor Social Skills

by Grasshopper_Jungle



Category: Rockman | Mega Man Classic
Genre: Drabble Collection, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, No Angst, No Plot/Plotless, One Big Happy Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grasshopper_Jungle/pseuds/Grasshopper_Jungle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The hedgehog's dilemma, or sometimes the porcupine dilemma, is a metaphor about the challenges of human intimacy. It describes a situation in which a group of hedgehogs all seek to become close to one another ... however, as they cannot avoid hurting one another with their sharp spines."  </p><p>Or: In which Dr. Light and his first three creations try to be a family. Drabbles. The first: Rock and Blues do their best impressions of each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jee (Or: The Imitation Game)

**Author's Note:**

> General: So I decided to start doing one-word prompts for Megaman as a way to de-stress and feel productive, and found that a couple of them were turning out a) a lot longer than would probably gel with the rest of the prompts, and/or b) likely to work better if presented on their own. So here they are. I still haven't decided what to do with the inevitable angsty ones, but rest assured that this is a Fluff Only Zone (TM). 
> 
> Notes for this first one: This is the only thing I've written that will ever matter. Also, if you have no knowledge of The Protomen or the End of Evangelion movie, you're gonna be confused. I'm sorry.

Rock snatches Roll’s sunglasses off the table—pink, rhinestoned and winged things, but still he puts them on, juts out his bottom lip, and folds his arms over his chest. When he speaks, it’s caricature gruff: _“Roll, I’ve given everything I can. There are no heroes left in man.”_

Rock pauses to briefly hide his mouth in his shoulder, swallow his mirth as Roll unleashes her own in the chair beside him. Across the table sits the target of this derision with his boots up and his own arms crossed, smirk tugging up a corner of his own lips.

Rock finishes his turn with, _“And I’m not wearing any hockey pads.”_

Roll has her head down on the table; She's shaking and snorting.

Blues slides his feet off the table, reaches for the blue figurine amongst the plethora of plastic prototypes that had been what had first prompted the Light siblings to gather, and then for the orange one with spikes for hands.

He turns them to face one another, cyan rocking on its little platform as Blues cries in a falsetto, _“Just let my dad reprogram you! I’m the one who deserved to be hit, not you! I’m a coward!_

(“I don’t sound like that!”)

 _I’m dishonest!_  

(Roll’s eyes widen for a moment as her brother speaks, before her stomach begins to shake again with titters)

 _I’m sneaky, and a wimp_.— Five seconds later, **pow!”** Blues throws the other figure against the kitchen wall, which falls disremembered to steel. Practically yelling, _“Is this your strongest machine, Wily?”_

“I do not sound like that!” Rock turns to his right. “Do I, Roll?”

Green eyes peer out for a second before she hides her face again and lets her laughter out.


	2. Asthenic (Or: A Lazy Sunday With Dad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited this last night. Shameless Proto-Dr. Light pre-fallout fluff.

“Maybe my next project should be finding a way to feed robots chicken noodle soup,” his father says. “That’s what my mother always used to make for me when—well, always, really. It was her own azoth, if you will.” 

 

Blues is silent. A crate full of power-cord extensions had finally arrived that morn, so the pair had taken advantage by pushing out an old couch from one of the dustiest back-rooms up to the lab’s main monitor, the office chair standing abreast with a bowl of popcorn and an E-tank in its seat.  Football is on, a game Blues is paying even less mind than usual, both for the hair in his eyes and the slow drip of the electric IVs.    

 

He lies with his cheek planted on his father’s thigh and one limb of each kind slumped off the side of the couch. An afghan has been thrown over him (futile, yes, but it feels better on his skin than the cords digging into his back with warm teeth). 

 

Light watches the game with only an occasional soft outburst, all the while stroking his creation’s nylon hair. 

 

“The sun lamp I ordered should get here by tomorrow.” Touchdown, but no noise from the audience beyond the screen. “You’ll probably get more sun than half of the kids these days combined.”             

 

Blues hums as a brief response. 

The announcers are screeching about going all the way and there’s a white streak tearing through green, navy dots blending into each other around it as far as Blues can tell. Dr. Light says, “I could get you into a sport, if you wanted. Not likely on any team, but maybe with a private instructor. And I could maybe downgrade your enhancements if you wanted to do any competitions.”   

 

Blues mumbles something. A hand stills, a back bends. “What was that, son?”      

 

“How is learning how to free throw gonna help me be a soldier?” He asks with half a smile. 

 

An arm hooks around a neck and knuckles come down on crown as Dr. Light practically roars, “Well, that’s what I tried to program you with creativity for!”

 

A scarlet hand feebly swats at the attack. “You’re gonna mess up my hair, Dad.”

 

_That’s thirteen times._

 

“It’s technically my hair—” Thomas Light yanks his son up by the axilla, stabbing thick fingers directly through Blues‘ pompadour and making it shake as though with earthquake“—and I’ll mess it up if I want to!”

 

Blues is laughing along, though lightly, pawing and pushing with both hands as he asks, “Why did you even give me this, anyway?”

 

His father responds with hugging him to his side, with a gesture as he proudly expounds his motivations. “Because, son, the best of nature’s predators all have methods of intimidation: the bear can stand upright; the cobra has its hood; and you, DLN-000, shall have your pompadour.”

 

With a flash of white, Blues’ battery trips the threshold to fully brighten his eyes again, just in time for him to roll them. “Well thanks, Dad.” _(Fourteen.)_


	3. Conjointly (Or: A Midseason Filler Episode)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rock is a dweeb, but we all knew that already. Scripted late at night and based off of my vague understanding of MM 10's plot. Hopefully I didn't mess anything up too badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you to those of you who left kudos! It really brightens my day. 
> 
> Alright, this is a long one. I had this and another, thankfully shorter one I needed to rewrite entirely, because I couldn’t put my finger on what it was I had issues with. Soon as I finish up the latter we’ll be caught up and I can get started on new prompts again. 
> 
> I’d like to mention that it’s completely okay to send me prompts. I can’t guarantee they’ll be long enough to qualify for placement here, but I’ll get them to you somehow, some way. I will break into your house. I will kick-box with a black hole. I will-

“We should have a team move.”

Blues quirks an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at his brother in blue, who has stripped off his chest and arms plates and is poking about his stomach cavity with a screwdriver. Eyebrows are knit, a bit of tongue sticking out a corner, umber hair spouting out like sidewalk weeds from where his helmet has been chipped and cracked. 

He crumbles the empty E-tank in his hand, drops it, gives it a light kick to the side. They're standing on the fridges of yet another industrial park—Rush’s head jerks up at the sound of aluminum skidding gravel. Blues waits for either dog or boy to reprimand him for littering (so they can get their Environmentalist Badge!), but that doesn’t come, and Rock’s statement just sits on the ground between them like a failed paper plane. 

Blues is reminded of an episode of Scooby Doo he saw years ago, back before the fallout, where the mist was so thick they literally cut a donut out of it with a knife. 

Rock just taps his dog on the shoulder. Rush’s eyes light up, little suns, and protrude and bend until they’re hanging over Rock’s stomach. 

As if he wouldn’t mind if Blues left without him. But, he has the copy chip; he has more E-tanks. Wouldn’t be wise to just leave him, right?

Blues asks, “Like some anime?”

“Yeah,” Rock replies, not looking up from his task. “Like the Power Rangers.”

Blues stands there watching his brother play with his own innards. 

Well, what should he say? Bring up Roll, bring up their borrowed time? Make fun of him for being a dweeb? That would just be him repeating himself. 

“I have some duct tape,” Blues says, “if you need any.” 

Rock’s eyes shoot up, blink, fall back down. “Uh, no thank you.” Slaps his hatch shut, feeds the screwdriver to Rush, and raises his head again, so the two brothers’ eyne can finally meet. “Unless you wanna tape our blasters together for the super move?” 

Blues gets the urge he’ll sometimes get with Roll, to wipe the grime off their cheeks and fix their crooked smiles. Bit vaguer, quick as lightning, but still it was there. 

Instead he smirks. “Why bother trying to top what’s already perfect?”

“Aren’t you a _prototype?”_ Rock asks as he pushes himself to his feet.

Blues taps the side of his helmet; his mouth-guard slides into place. Static-lacing his voice as he replies, “You’re not even  _supposed_ to be weaponized, kid. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

“Is that _jealousy_ I hear?” 

Blues kicks up his shield, reminds himself to dip Rush’s chew toys in a whole vat of scrambler chips as he hears the canine’s sniggers. 

“Kid, I would be the _head_ of the Power Rangers’ megabot; you’d be the left leg when all of the interns are out sick. Now quit and let’s get going before you embarrass yourself.” “He gives the boy in blue a once-over. “Further.” 

Cerulean eyes roll; a same-hued hand rubs his growling dog behind the ear.“All the Rangers sit in the head _together,_ Smartie Pants. And if you’re such a great leader, why didn’t you scout ahead for any more of Wily’s bots?” 

Rock starts a bit as his elder brother suddenly spins on his heels, nearly clocking Rush in the snout with his shield, visage unreadable. Pause. Then he pokes Rock right in the chest and quips back,” See? This is why I couldn’t leave you behind; you’re just a kid in over his head—”

“—I am.”

“—And I couldn’t leave you because I don’t know when I turn back if you’re gonna be doing something productive or eating glue and crayons.”

Rock’s own visage has morphed from surprise to smile. “The only one hiding art supplies on them is you.” Blues’ shoulders slack as he turns back around, to the wood they’re to trek into next for the cure, for the parts he’ll duct tape together himself if he has to. 

(And he can’t convince himself he won’t have to) As Rock merely continues speaking: “How do _I_ know you’re not the one who likes to eat glue? Is that why—” 

Blues sidesteps his brother’s dive, catches him by the collar of his own armor so he doesn’t fall on his face.“—your...?”

“Don't touch me.” 

Rock stumbles. “O-okay. I’m sorry, Blues.”

But the prototype has already stolen ahead, spinning the handle of his shield about his fingers. “Protoman.”

Rock rubs his hackles down and begins to follow with smaller steps. But he murmurs, “More like Proto _dweeb,_ ” with a simper. 

“Say that to my face when this is all over!” Blues calls casually. “I guess you need another reminder why they still call me Breakman, too.” 

 


	4. Kiwi (Or: Rock has finally figured out how to talk to his brother)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spongebob will never die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late and sloppy revision because my life kinda sucks right now, honestly. But anyway, this is a little prompt my tumblr friend kolthedestroyer sent to me forever and three days ago, and I'm just now getting around to posting it in any capacity. 
> 
> Little content warning for implied alcohol use.

“Hey, Blues?” 

His brother seems to take a second too long to react, like he’s weighing the options, but nonetheless Blues glances up at him from his book, lips thinned and an eyebrow quirked. Rock squeezes the hands he’s hidden behind himself, loudly crackling his gift, and takes a deep b— 

Blues holds up a finger, turns to the little table set up abreast to the lawn chair on which he reclines, and picks up the plastic wineglass full of a sickly orange-green. 

Rock’s body slacks. “Is that from an E Tank?”

Blues gulps down half of the glass, picks the kiwi slice off the lip, and drops it down his throat. “Sort of. Now what is it you—?” Blues’ eyes then finally settle on the object Rock is “hiding” behind his back, cerulean, wrinkled paper, ....sweater shaped. Blues mouths a bewildered expletive on the off-chance Roll is near. 

Blues notes the little robot re-springing, how his navy eyes light up as he brings the object out for display. “Me and Bomb and Guts were watching Spong—”

Blues again holds up his hand, finishes his drink without looking at it. Then he sighs, as though careworn. “If this is about comparing me to Squidward again—” 

“Well, it’s not _wrong. And—!”_ Here Rock steps forward, holds up his own hand, forces the smile from his face for a look more sage. “And you’ll like this one. Bombsman suggested I make you a sweater of my own tears to cheer you up after he—”

“Cheated.” 

Eyes roll. “But I can’t make enough tears, (he touches his mouth to his shoulder, swallowing the titters and tiny butterflies that had been quaking his words) and I don’t have enough eyelashes either, so I made you one out of paper. But I crumpled it up a bunch of times before I glued it together, so it’s a bit softer. See? I even wrote “ Megadweeb’s tears” on the front here.” 

Blues has by now rested his elbows on his knees, pushed up his signature shades, and rested his eyes on interlocked fingers. At that last revelation, he dares glance up and steal a peak at his sibling. 

“You like it, don’t you?” Rock says like he knows the answer. 

Blues takes a moment to respond, but Rock sees his smile. 

“I think we’re finally getting somewhere, kid.” 

 


End file.
